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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22930099">What To Do When A Mysterious Hooded Figure Collapses In Your Garage</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinistercinnamon/pseuds/sinistercinnamon'>sinistercinnamon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Devil May Cry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Badass Kyrie (Devil May Cry), Gen, Kyrie gets her hands on Yamato, Nero is confused, Vergil is a polite houseguest, being nice doesn't mean you're helpless, even if DMC4 thinks so, that's it that's the fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 07:00:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,872</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22930099</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinistercinnamon/pseuds/sinistercinnamon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>On the night of April 30th, Nero is called away, leaving Kyrie home alone when a cloaked figure staggers into their garage. But her attempts to nurse him back to health are interrupted by demons. Well, she can't allow <i>that</i>.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dante &amp; Vergil (Devil May Cry), Kyrie &amp; Vergil (Devil May Cry), Kyrie/Nero (Devil May Cry)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>187</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>What To Do When A Mysterious Hooded Figure Collapses In Your Garage</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Partially inspired by <a href="https://citree.tumblr.com/post/184102258498/citree-my-thoughts-they-left-her-behind-only-to">this post</a>, only instead of giving her a knife, I gave her Yamato.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kyrie sighed as she turned off the stove and began pulling out boxes to transfer the food into. Fortunately, her chronic inability to assess how much food to prepare had meant she’d long since accumulated plenty of receptacles for storing leftovers.</p><p>Though you couldn’t even call them leftovers here, as nobody would be eating them to start with, except for her, and she didn’t have much of an appetite (it was the main reason she had such trouble estimating portion sizes – everybody seemed to eat piles of food compared to her, and it was hard to figure out when the pile had become too high because to her it always seemed too much).</p><p>She had definitely overdone it again, even by her usual standards, she thought, as she portioned out a small amount onto a plate for herself to eat.</p><p>She’d already started cooking when the call had come in – something about a large number of demons sighted in some woods on the mainland. Nero had rolled his eyes and muttered about how they should just call a regular pest control guy because whatever the things were, they were low level demons, and the area was remote and sparsely populated. But there were a lot of them according to the report, and it was best not to leave these things too long lest the issue grow out of control.</p><p>She’d kept on cooking because there was no point wasting the ingredients. Besides, she needed something to do to stop her worrying about Nero putting himself in danger like this. The children had been taken off on a fishing expedition by the husband of one of the women in her book group, so she didn’t even have them to distract her.</p><p>There was also the possibility of Dante dropping by - Nero had finally given in to Nico’s badgering and invited him to visit so she could have an opportunity to check his guns, and he’d promised to drop by after his current job was done with. So far there’d been no sign of him though.</p><p>Finishing her meal, she began organising the leftovers, neatly organising them and storing them appropriately.</p><p>If nothing else, everyone would eat well on whatever jobs came up in the near future. Oh! That gave her an idea. Nico had had to leave the van behind as it was undergoing repairs, and the pair had left in a car that she swore she’d gotten permission to use, but had been parked where it was long enough that Kyrie was certain it had been abandoned… Still, it had been an eyesore and everyone in the street had become sick of asking authorities to move it, so she couldn’t be too disapproving. Perhaps she could get the pair of them to fix it up and donate it to a family in need.</p><p>She would place some containers in the van, so that even if Nero had to go haring off in a hurry on his next job with no chance for her to pack him something, he’d still have something to eat. It was good to be prepared for these things.</p><p>What she was not prepared for was the cloaked figure sprawled on the floor of the garage, next to the van. She dropped the food in shock, one of the containers spilling open. Some part of her mind registered the waste even as she rushed forward to help the man.</p><p>His cloak was worn and ragged, and at first she thought he was homeless, but when she carefully turned him over and pushed the hood away from his face, she saw one that she recognised.</p><p>“Dante!” she gasped. He looked awful, black veins ran across his too-pale face like cracks. Whatever could have happened to him? Some sort of demonic infection?</p><p>Whatever it was, she’d sort him out.</p><p>She had something of a gift for healing, mostly because her caring demeanour and soothing presence led people to assume that she was a healer anyway, and she didn’t want to accidentally kill anyone who came to her for help. Or disappoint them, which seemed almost as bad. And after the truth about the Order came out, she’d made sure to read up on any papers Nero could get hold of relating to how demons and their essence could affect humans or animals just in case something happened to him or Nico while out on a job (or worse - one of the boys got their curious hands on something Nico was using to make a weapon). She’d completely failed to notice her own brother had been transformed into some sort of… creature, and she was determined that she’d be able to step in and help if anything like that happened again.</p><p>Well, here was her test.</p><p>Her first problem was getting him off the garage floor and into a bed. Whatever was wrong with him, rest was undoubtedly necessary and he wouldn’t be getting that lying on concrete. She tried lifting him but it was like trying to shift a boulder.</p><p>Looking around, she saw the wheeled board Nico used for repairs to the van’s undercarriage and dragged it over. A fair bit of grunting (and a few choice swearwords that she would never admit uttering to Nero) later and she had him onboard. Mercifully there was a guest bedroom on the ground floor, so at least that was one obstacle she could avoid.</p><p>Manoeuvring him into the bed was difficult, but she was determined. That done, she began to strip him of as many clothes as she was comfortable removing. She didn’t want to leave him naked, but all that leather couldn’t be comfortable. The clothing was different from what she’d seen Dante wearing before - the coat was a deep blue-ish black rather than his usual dark red, and she’d never known him to wear a waistcoat at all. Still, maybe he’d felt like a change, and this wasn’t the time to critique his fashion choices. He carried no weapons, so he’d either lost them or absorbed them into himself. Either way, it wasn’t her problem.</p><p>She removed the cloak, coat, waistcoat, and boots, but left him in the sleeveless shirt and trousers. His bare arms revealed that the infection extended beyond his face, and seeing this she wondered if there was anything she could do that’d fix this.</p><p>Quickly, not wanting to leave him alone for too long in case he woke up or something happened, she dashed out of the room and hurried around the house gathering some supplies: bowls, cloths, water, various notes on demonic poisons and infections, a bucket in case he threw up, plus a cover for it in case whatever he brought up came alive (more likely than you’d think, when it came to hellish ailments).</p><p>Supplies acquired, she got to work. First off she wiped him down, then applied a cold compress to his forehead, neither of which were an effective fix for whatever ailed him, but would at least hopefully soothe him while she tried to figure out what it was that <em>did</em> ail him.</p><p>Flicking through the books (during which she regretted her limited technical abilities - this would be so much easier if she could search and cross-refence - maybe she should go on that beginners’ computing course like Nico had suggested…) she concluded that her initial assessment had been correct: an infection, and an extremely pernicious one at that. Of course the trouble with infections was that you could do more harm than good if you weren’t sure what the infection was attacking or how, so she’d have to use her best judgment and hope she could do enough that Dante’s demonic physiology could do the rest.</p><p>Hmm… let’s see… The infection seemed to be spreading through his blood, not his nervous system. That ruled a few possibilities out. It had to have been dealt out by an extremely powerful demon to have affected a half demon so badly. That narrowed it down some more.</p><p>Unfortunately the answers she got were vague and slightly contradictory. One entry suggested that an elixir made of a mix of holy water, powdered Geryon hoof, and - of all things – nutmeg, could help (though she couldn’t see how that would stop a bloodborne infection). Another proposed a concoction to be injected directly into the veins (which sounded promising) but involved a mix of ingredients that were extremely toxic (less promising). And where would she even find syringes? There were no pharmacies open this late and she didn’t dare leave her patient alone anyway.</p><p>Reluctant to chance a man’s life on nothing more than guesswork, she ducked out into the hallway and picked up the phone. Nico’s experiments with demonic components were more geared towards creating weapons than potions, but the woman might still have some valuable insights that could be applied here. She was halfway through dialling the number before she recalled that it was a carphone, attached to the van, which was in the garage.</p><p>Gritting her teeth to hold back more bad language, she instead dialled the number for the phone that she’d had Nero get, which he usually forgot but surely took with him this time seeing as how Nico was without hers- With clanging inevitability, the strains of a tinny melody drifted in from the living room.</p><p>Once more a few choice words escaped her lips, one of which even Nero wouldn’t dare speak and would result in her immediate excommunication if anyone in the Order were to hear her. Sparda forgive her for the language she was spouting today. Though considering she was trying to save his son, he would probably let some words slide. So long as she succeeded anyway. No pressure, Kyrie.</p><p>That thought was enough to send her scurrying back into the room to make sure her patient was still alive.</p><p>He was, but he managed to look even worse than he had a few minutes before.</p><p>There was nothing else for it; she’d have to go with one of the remedies suggested by the books - but which one? Both, she decided. It wasn’t as if she had any idea which was the best option, and if either of them would kill him then, well, there was a 50/50 chance she’d have picked that one anyway.</p><p>Not to mention there was a 100% chance he’d die if she did nothing.</p><p>Another supply run was required to gather materials. More mundane ones from the kitchen, but a rummage through Nico’s van for more specialist ingredients and tools was also necessary. It was just as well Nico had left the keys here instead of simply taking them with her out of habit.</p><p>As she manoeuvred around the Nico’s workbench, peeking in drawers, she knocked over something propped up against it. <em>It was that sword!</em> The one Nero kept stored in his arm (and wasn’t <em>that</em> a weird sentence to say, when you thought about it…). He would occasionally bring it out to impress the children with his ‘magic trick’, but usually put it away again, and it wasn’t as if he had much need for another sword when Red Queen worked so well for him. Possibly he’d taken it out to help Nico take apart some demonic material; they’d learned the blade could cut just about anything.</p><p>What was he thinking, just leaving it behind like this? Even though he had other weapons which he preferred, it seemed foolhardy to leave something like this behind. Still, his (hopefully irrelevant) loss was her patient’s gain, as its keen edge would make her task much easier. She just had to be careful not to lose a finger through carelessness.</p><p>Not wanting to leave her patient alone for too long, she returned to the bedroom to actually prepare the medicines. Working in the kitchen or the van would be more convenient, but she could miss something important – what if he developed new symptoms which rendered her previous diagnosis invalid? Or took a turn for the worse and died alone as she toiled downstairs?</p><p>Thankfully, he was still alive, and nothing much seemed to have changed from a few minutes ago. Quickly, she set to work, grinding, chopping, mixing, preparing.</p><p>The injectable concoction was her first task, as it seemed to her the most direct method of fighting the infection while the elixir would repair damage - or that was her guess anyway based on her reading. Fortunately she’d found a syringe in the medical supplies in Nico’s van while gathering ingredients, so the problem of how she’d administer was not an issue.</p><p>At least finding a vein wouldn’t be an issue.</p><p>Carefully she pressed the needle in and depressed the trigger. There was no visible change, but then she hadn’t really expected that. Still, a girl could hope.</p><p>Next she made the final preparations to the elixir. After the ease with which she’d dispensed the last one, <em>this</em> turned out to be the medicine that proved troublesome to administer. She needed him sitting up, otherwise she’d choke him, but trying to prop him up while holding a bowl proved impossible. Eventually she caught on the idea of using the sheathed sword as leverage, and with some amount of awkwardness she managed to get the potion into him.</p><p>The sword she placed under the bed where she wouldn’t trip over it while working, and where it would be out of sight of Dante, just in case he woke up in a confused state, reached for a weapon and hurt himself (Lady was fond of regaling them with a tale of how Dante had once managed to literally shoot himself in the foot when he woke up with a severe hangover and thought he was being attacked).</p><p>Her work done, she allowed herself to flop down into a chair for a moment, drained. She couldn’t rest just yet though. She could not say whether her actions had helped him or even made things worse, and the only way to tell would be to watch and wait. As quickly as she could, she ducked out of the room to grab a book to read - who knew how long she’d have to keep vigil?</p><p>Her patient was still alive when she returned, so that was something. She could have sworn he looked a little better as well, though that was possibly wishful thinking. She settled into the chair with the book (a collection of poems). It was getting late, but she didn’t want to sleep until she was sure he would pull through.</p><p>She found herself reading aloud, partly to keep herself awake, and it actually seemed like he was responding - she swore she saw a flicker of his eyelids at one point. She even sang some poems, as she liked to do sometimes when she found one that fit a tune.</p><p>Despite herself though, she soon found her eyelids growing heavy, and the book slipped from her fingers as she fell into slumber…</p><p>She was awoken abruptly by a loud crash from somewhere else in the house. She shot to her feet and dashed out of the room, expecting to see Nero and Nico, probably arguing over who had been responsible for whatever that crash had been.</p><p>Instead she was confronted by a demon, which screeched and charged at her. She grabbed the nearest item (a vase) and threw it in the hope of slowing the thing down and ducked back into the room. She tried shutting the door behind her, but it lurched through the gap, swiping at her with its claws.</p><p>Reaching for any kind of weapon, her hands found the sword.</p><p>She pulled it from its sheath and swung it widely, eyes closed, praying to Sparda, convinced that this was it, this was how she died. Her fate seemed sealed when the blade met with no resistance – how had she managed to miss with a sword as this long?! – but then she heard some dull thumps and opened her eyes to see the demon in two pieces on the floor.</p><p>Her moment of triumph was short-lived, however, as more noises from the hall suggested that the demon’s screeches had attracted more of them. She slammed the door shut and began barricading it with any furniture not currently occupied with a sick man.</p><p>Not that it would do much to stop them, but it might slow them down enough for help to arrive.</p><p>She stood before the door, ready to face them. At least in the sense that she was in a defensible position and holding a weapon, anyway. But in a very real sense, not ready at all. She had no idea what she was doing! She should run, but that would mean leaving someone defenceless against them, and that she would not do.</p><p>All she knew about fighting had come from observing Credo and Nero practicing, and she knew that was nowhere near enough. An echo of her brother’s voice came to her, him instructing an obstinate Nero: <em>A weapon you don’t know how to use belongs to your enemy.</em> She did not know how to use this weapon, beyond swinging it in the direction of something, and she knew there was much more to it than that.</p><p>She was going to die here. Unless she ran and abandoned someone who had needed her help. She chanced a glance at the bed behind her. Well then, if she died then so be it. At least it would be with a clear conscience.</p><p>She took a few deep breaths and tried to prepare herself for what was to come, as the scratches and snarls outside grew louder and more persistent.</p><p>A clawed hand smashed through the wood, and frantically she dashed forward and slashed at it. The demon shrieked and withdrew its stump of an arm, but others sought to take advantage of the opening. More slashes and more arms fell to the floor; either they had multiple limbs or there were more than she’d thought (possibly both) as the arms being flailed at her seemed to keep coming and coming with seemingly no end.</p><p>Her one advantage (well, really there were two if you counted the sword) was that they lacked any intelligence or strategy, so focused on their intended victim that they fought with each other and all tried to get through the gap at once, instead of working together to make it bigger.</p><p>That could only help so much though, as slowly but surely the hole was widened by sheer force of numbers, and gradually they made enough of a gap that a leering demonic face came through, snarling at her. With a cry (of fear, or rage, even she wasn’t sure - probably both) she plunged the sword into its face. It fell backward, nearly pulling with weapon with it, but fortunately she managed to keep her grip and pull it back.</p><p>That had felt pretty good, actually. She probably shouldn’t feel good about that should she? It was a demon, but still, she’d shoved a sharp object into another being’s face.</p><p>Moral conundrums could wait; there were more coming.</p><p>She didn’t know how long she stood there, hacking and slashing, pausing only to wipe sweat from her eyes or gasp in a breath. The pile of dismembered demon parts grew around her - if nothing else, Nico would have a field day harvesting materials - and still they kept coming. At some point the door splintered away to nothing, and against her own wishes, she stepped closer to the doorway, as she couldn’t allow any of them to get into the room. If they were able to enter, and they’d surround her in moments; she would be dead for sure, and the man lying behind her too. That was something else she’d learned from Credo. <em>If you must make a last stand against insurmountable odds, make it somewhere you can limit the enemies’ movement and numbers. If they’re going to kill you, at least make them work for it.</em></p><p>Eventually, the onslaught slowed, only a few demons scrabbling to get in, then to one, then none. She allowed the sword tip to rest on the floor, gulping in deep breaths…</p><p>Listening for more, she could hear nothing in the house, but in the absence of her own demonic distractions, she could hear the noise from outside - demonic screeches and the sound of claws skittering across stones and scraping against wood. There were still demons out there. She didn’t hear any screams though, but she wasn’t sure if that was because the demons had already killed everyone out there, or if none of her neighbours had been stupid enough to leave their garage door wide open.</p><p>She should be worried for her neighbours, but right now she was too exhausted to spare anyone else a thought.</p><p>Thankfully, in the distance, she could hear faint battlecries. The Order’s knights had rallied and were fighting the scourge, so she could allow herself a moment of selfishness; her neighbours were someone else’s problem.</p><p>Besides, none of them had come to check on her.</p><p>She squashed that thought as unbecoming to her.</p><p>Staggering to the chair, still holding the sword, she sat down. Head hanging with exhaustion as the night caught up to her, she could see herself for the first time. Her dress was completely ruined, ripped and torn and covered in blood, some of which was hers – a long gash down her leg made itself known now that adrenaline was no longer coursing through her system. It was shallow enough that it probably wouldn’t even need stitches, but it hurt a lot, and would need treating. For now though, she settled for simply cleaning and bandaging it as best she could while staying alert for further attacks.</p><p>Really, the injury actually bothered her less than the state of her clothing – she couldn’t bear just throwing something away, but it wasn’t even fit for cleaning rags. Speaking of which… She tore off an unstained piece from her skirt and began polishing the blade, even though it was somehow miraculously free of demon blood. It was something that was necessary; Credo had never been able to abide sloppy sword care.</p><p>“Yr doin tht wrng,” slurred a voice from next to her, making her jump, narrowly missing cutting herself.</p><p>She turned to see her patient blearily looking at her through half-closed eyelids.</p><p>“I said, you’re doing that wrong.”</p><p>“Dante, you-”</p><p>“’m not Dante.”</p><p>
  <em>What?</em>
</p><p>“What?” she repeated aloud, to no response; whoever he was, he’d fallen back into unconsciousness.</p><p>She stared. But he looked exactly like Dante. How? There was a legend that Sparda had had two sons, but that idea had never carried much weight in the Order, and besides, Dante would surely have mentioned a brother. He always seemed so lonely, drowning his sorrows in pizza and ice cream.</p><p>A demonic double perhaps? She gripped the sword hilt tightly, wondering if she should strike, before he recovered…</p><p>But, she remembered, Trish was a demon who wore a human form, and she was perfectly nice. And Dante had mentioned another – Lucy? Laura? No, Lucia – who he’d described as “a sweet girl – even she didn’t know she was a demon till someone told her”. So it was possible for a demon to be nice.</p><p>And, she reminded herself, she’d been raised in a religion dedicated to worshipping one.</p><p>No, demon or not, he was a guest in her home, and the worst he’d done while here was offer mild criticism. Which, come to think of it, was much better behaviour than could usually be expected from Dante. So, he got the benefit of the doubt.</p><p>Gradually, faint light spread across the sky as dawn approached, and she wondered if that would be the end of it, but more screeches and skitterings from the hallway heralded more demons, and she fought back the tiredness as fiercely as she had the demons, and raised the sword again to meet more attackers.</p><p>This time there were only a few, and she hoped that was a good sign. Though not quite over yet though, as no sooner had she sat down again than another (lone, this time) creature scuttled through the door to end its life on her sword…</p><p>Whoever her mysterious patient was, she noticed that he had shifted position while she’d fought, his body angled so his face was in the strip of light shining through the gap in the curtains, like a flower seeking the sun.</p><p>That settled her internal debate; whoever, whatever he was, at least part of him still reached for the light.</p><p>Walking to the window, she opened the curtains fully.</p><p>Perhaps there were poems in the book about light that she could read to him? She headed back towards the chair and abandoned book, but before she could reach for it, there was another screech from the hallway. When would it end, already?</p><p>They probably kept coming because they thought her cowering in a room marked her as a weak target. Well, she’ll show them how weak she was! She charged out of the room, sword aloft, bellowing a warcry. The front door had been forced open, and a much larger demon was encroaching on the threshold.</p><p>She charged it, still yelling. It charged back. She ended up stumbling back to avoid its attacks, and its claws just missed her face. On the defensive now, she stumbled back, swinging the blade desperately, and managed to cut off one of its arms. The creature howled in response, swiping at her with another clawed limb, and she frantically dodged, slashing with the sword again as she did, leaving a gash along its chest. Unfortunately her movement took her into the wall, and a heavy cabinet to her left meant she had backed herself into a corner, nowhere to run from the monster towering over her.</p><p>Realising its prey was cornered, the demon reared back its head and screeched in premature victory, and she took the opportunity offered and swung wildly. Fortunately, the demon, not expecting so much resistance from what it clearly saw as a nobody human, didn’t attempt to defend itself and she cut clean through it. Unfortunately, at such close quarters, she ended up showed with gore.</p><p>She stood frozen, gagging desperately. It’d been one thing to pick up the occasional spatter of blood here and there, but this…? For someone who prided herself on her cleanliness and keeping a neat appearance, this was hell.</p><p>Eventually she managed to push back her disgust and looked around her. He once lovely and welcoming hallway was a mess. Claw marks on the walls and furniture, bloodstains, demon corpses. All the time she’d spent cleaning it, and just look at it! Attempting to close the front door, she found it was too badly damaged and all she could do was lean it against the frame. She kicked that too. What did these things have against doors?</p><p>Glaring at the dead demon now taking up space in her hallway, she began kicking it repeatedly, before cutting through its neck with a swing of her sword. She then kicked the severed head so hard that it went flying down the hall. It’s possible the lack of sleep was making her a little grumpy.</p><p>Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she didn’t know what to make of herself. Her face was covered with blood, her hair had come loose from its pins and was a rat’s nest, and the less said about her clothing the better.</p><p>She stomped back into the room to find not-Dante sitting up. For a moment, she saw him relaxed, basking in the early morning sunlight, but he quickly schooled his expression into one of disinterest. So he and Dante had that much in common at least. Can’t be seen to be caring too much – it’s not cool.</p><p>“I really hope that was the last of them.”</p><p>“It was.”</p><p>She took that information without question and sheathed the sword once more. She looked back up at him to see him eyeing her curiously.</p><p>“Who are you?”</p><p>Really? She put a hand on her hip and glared at him. “Who am I? I am the person who lives in the house you just wandered into.” And then because she couldn’t bring herself to be rude to a guest, even as grumpy as she was feeling right now, she added, “My name is Kyrie.”</p><p>He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back. “A lovely name. You have my thanks, Miss Kyrie. My name is Vergil.”</p><p>“Why do you look like Dante?” she blurted out. Really, what a way to treat a guest.</p><p>He frowned at her. “I am Vergil. I look like him because we are twins.”</p><p>She blinked in surprise. Somehow, demonic clone had been a more plausible scenario to her than brotherhood. “Dante never mentioned having a brother.”</p><p>He snorted derisively. “Of course he didn’t. He’s probably done his best to forget I ever existed.”</p><p>“I’m sure that’s not true.” He might not have mentioned a brother, but she could never imagine just forgetting Credo.</p><p>“What if I told you I tried to kill Dante?”</p><p>That sounded bad. Though come to think of it, Nero had tried to kill Dante on first meeting him. And Trish. Oh and Lady too… Wow it certainly seemed like a lot of people he knew ended up as his friends simply because they gave up on killing him.</p><p>“I think I might be the only person who hasn’t.”</p><p>He laughed at that, then tried to pretend he hadn’t, which he did a poor job of as it caused his still-weakened system some strain.</p><p>“You should rest. I’d hate to have done all that for nothing. What happened to you anyway?”</p><p>“Mundus.”</p><p>She felt a chill. “He’s back?!” She looked around, foolishly, half expecting him to burst in through the broken door.</p><p>Vergil shook his head, then winced. “No. I- I fell into the underworld. I… do not wish to talk about it.”</p><p>She nodded. “Well, you’re here now.” Then she frowned, considering. “Why are you here anyway?”</p><p>That had come out more unfriendly than she’d intended, and she almost winced. But surely he wasn’t looking for Dante here? He stopped by occasionally, but this was nowhere near one of his regular haunts.</p><p>“You have my sword.” He nodded at the weapon she still held. “Why is that here, anyway?”</p><p>She felt like she was on shaky ground here. Dante had given it to Nero, though now it seemed it wasn’t his to give. Oh dear. “Dante gave it to Nero – my boyfriend – to look after. Said he was a natural at wielding it.”</p><p>“He just gave it away. Of course he did.”</p><p>“If it makes you feel any better, it was broken when Nero found it, and he repaired it.” Vergil closed his eyes at that, as if in pain. “He has his own weapons though, and we would be happy to return it to its rightful owner.”</p><p>She held the weapon out to him with a small bow. He received it with a nod, propping it beside the bed.</p><p>“Where am I, anyway?”</p><p>“Fortuna.”</p><p>He frowned. Not as if he had a particular dislike of Fortuna, but more the expression of someone with painful memories. Or at least, that’s what she hoped his expression meant. It didn’t say much about Fortuna that someone who had spent years in Hell found being here a displeasing prospect. It certainly didn’t bode well for Fortuna’s attempts to attract tourists.</p><p>“Been here before?”</p><p>His frown deepened, but he didn’t answer. Well she wouldn’t pry. Not yet anyway. The time for that would be later, when he’d recovered. Purely in the interests of it being important not to bottle things up, of course.</p><p>And right now, she was just too tired for such a delicate conversation. She really needed to sit down. Just for a moment. Before she had to get to work cleaning up the house and herself. And she should get her guest something to eat… Just a moment off her feet, that was all…</p><p>⁂</p><p>Vergil eyed the sleeping woman. As soon as he was sure she was deeply enough asleep that his movements wouldn’t wake her, he slipped out of bed and began gathering his clothes.</p><p>(Memories sought to invade his mind, memories of another occasion sneaking out of a bed as a woman slept, knowing that if he waited until she was awake, he’d never leave… He pushed them away, angry at himself for this weakness, this sentiment.)</p><p>He was nowhere near his full strength, but he could move under his own power at least. He dressed in moments, grabbed Yamato, and headed to the door… only to stop and turn in the doorway.</p><p>The woman was awkwardly curled into the chair. It did not look comfortable. He should move her to the bed. Because… because… because he needed time to recover before striking at Dante. If she woke up too soon she could sound the alarm, put him on the alert before Vergil was ready. And Fortuna’s Order of the Sword was made up of fools, but fools could cause all sorts of chaos in a a vain attempt to apprehend him. Yes, she could cause problems. Of course she could. Big problems. All sorts.</p><p>Carefully, very carefully, he lifted her and moved her onto the bed, covering her. He should close the curtains too, lest the sunlight on her face wake her. But somehow he couldn’t. There was no sun in hell, and he found himself unable to block it from someone, even though he’d be out walking in it in moments and surely she’d not wanted for sunshine.</p><p>Again, he walked to the door, stepping over demons as he went. There were more in the hallway, along with the damage they’d left – gouges in the walls, blood everywhere, the front door loose on its hinges, the one behind him mere splinters…</p><p>He made it almost to the front door this time, before he could go no further. He ground his teeth. Weakness. Why couldn’t he just leave? He needed revenge on his brother. His time suffering in the underworld had seemed endless, and the torn calendar on the wall quantifying the period as over two decades didn’t make this feel any better. He’d waited too long already.</p><p>But…</p><p>She had fought for him. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had. <em>If</em> anyone had.</p><p>She’d found a way to counteract the poison within him, something that must have involved a lot of thought and skill. And she must have sat up all night afterwards. She’d read poetry to him, he recalled. He remembered singing as well. Her? Or another woman, years before, who he had left to raise Temen Ni Gru, intending to return. Or yet another woman, beyond even that, now long dead…</p><p>Even the Underworld would agree. She had done him a favour, at great risk to herself. There was a debt that should be repaid. That was how it worked.</p><p>He supposed that tidying up was the least he could do.</p><p>⁂</p><p>Nero and Dante burst through the damaged front door brandishing weapons, on guard for all sorts of horrifying sights… To be met with Kyrie and Vergil, calmly conversing over tea and cake.</p><p>“I think what Blake was trying to convey with that line-“ Kyrie was saying. “Oh, Nero, you’re back! I was so… What have I told you about weapons in the house?”</p><p>“You’re covered in blood!”</p><p>“Oh, none of this is mine. There was a demon attack, but it’s all fine now.”</p><p>“I bet it is,” growled Dante, who had not lowered his guns. “And who is responsible for that, huh, brother?”</p><p>“Brother?!” blurted Nero, but Dante ignored him as usual.</p><p>This was met with a stern glare from Kyrie. “I’ll have you know that your brother cleaned the house while l was resting. Which is more than l can say for you.” She gave a pointed glance at his boots, still muddy from traipsing through the woods after demons.</p><p>“And he baked cake.” She took another bite of the slice on her plate. “Why can’t you be more like your brother, Dante?”</p><p>Vergil’s smirk could probably be seen from space. How was it he was here yet Dante was the least popular person in the room?</p><p>“But he opened a portal to the underworld when we were teenagers!” he protested. No way was he letting Vergil win.</p><p>“Well everyone did stupid stuff when they were a teenager. You should see some of the things Nero did.”</p><p>“Hey!”</p><p>Vergil spoke up for the first time in the conversation. “He obviously made some good choices.” He gestured to indicate Kyrie, who smiled, blushing slightly.</p><p>“Oh yes, you can definitely stay here as long as you want.”</p><p>Nero was both confused and frustrated. He’d spent the night and most of this morning dealing with Dante, as well as putting up with Nico fangirling over Dante. Coming home to find that Dante had an identical twin who was going to be sticking around for a while? That was a little too much for him on so little sleep. He supposed he should trust Kyrie’s judgement, but still…</p><p>Just then Nico caught up with them, having been busy parking (crashing might be more accurate) the car they’d ‘borrowed’. “Holy moly there’s two of ‘em!”</p><p>Vergil looked at her with interest. “Ah, are you the artisan who creates things from demonic ingredients?”</p><p>“Sure am! You want it, I can make it! You lookin’ to buy? First one’s a freebie, cause Kyrie likes you.” She turned to Nero and prodded him meaningfully. “Ar-ti-san! See? He gets it.”</p><p>He inclined his head slightly. “I am not looking for anything at the moment. I simply wished to let you know that there is a large pile of demon corpses in the yard behind the house, for your perusal. Miss Kyrie suggested that we let you harvest anything you required before we burned them.”</p><p>Nico’s face lit up, in a reaction that was the exact opposite to the one most people would have when gifted with dead demons.</p><p>Dante had never been able to accept Vergil getting more attention than him when they were kids, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to start now. And he knew just the thing to shake things up. He smirked. “Hey, bro. What’s it like being back here? You were in Fortuna… oooh, little over 25 years ago, right? Met a girl, had some fun.”</p><p>This earned a frown from Vergil. “How did you know that?”</p><p>Dante clapped Nero hard on the shoulder. “Well, Verge, turns out this kid is 25 years old, wields Yamato like he was born to it, and looks an awful lot like you.”</p><p>There was a long pause as that sunk in and realisation dawned on everyone. Dante found it amusing that Vergil’s and Nero’s expressions of shock were identical.</p><p>He stood, smugly, waiting for the inevitable explosion. He should probably have thought more carefully about the dangers of being too close to an explosion.</p><p>Nero whirled to face him. “I- He- You- You knew this for how long? And never told me?”</p><p>Uh oh. “I, uh, didn’t think it mattered. Hey, I shoulda told you, sure, but your old man was long gone, and-”</p><p>“And you thought I wouldn’t like to know that I had an uncle? Or why I had this thing?” He held up his scaly, clawed hand.</p><p>He turned to Kyrie for support. Kind, gentle, Kyrie. Who was getting up from her chair with a look that was sharper than any sword (and he’d been at the pointy end of plenty of those). “Dante, how could you? You know how much family means to him!”</p><p>Vergil, now that the shock had worn off, looked enraged, and it occurred to Dante that as he had failed to explain how long he’d known Nero was his son, it must look a hell of a lot to him like Dante had known Nero’s whole life but not bothered to raise his nephew.</p><p>He opened his mouth to explain, then had to dodge the summoned sword Vergil sent his way. The glowing blue blade narrowly missed him, but he knew the next one would not; his brother had meant that as a warning shot.</p><p>Any hopes that Nero would back him up in an actual fight vanished as he heard the sound of Red Queen revving up, and when he looked back in the direction of his brother, he could see that Kyrie had gotten her hands on Yamato, with no sign of objection coming from Vergil (normally insanely protective of his blade), and was advancing on him with no sign of mercy in her eyes.</p><p>This party was now officially too crazy for him.</p><p>As he ran, he could hear three voices in unison yelling, “Dante!” as Nico howled with laughter.</p><p>He supposed he should be happy that he had united them as a family. Yeah, he’ll chalk this one up as a win. Go, Dante!</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <s>I can be found on Tumblr <a href="https://maiqueen.tumblr.com/">here</a>.</s>
</p><p>New tumblr <a href="http://maiqueen.tumblr.com/">here</a>.</p></blockquote><div class="children module" id="children">
  <b class="heading">Works inspired by this one:</b>
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        <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26870782">Black Clouds</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/virberos/pseuds/virberos">virberos</a>
    </li>
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